The Christmas Medals

By Dan Jorgensen

Dean Jorgensen was not my biological father, but he was my dad in the truest sense. That was cemented the first Christmas he shared with my younger brothers and me. We three boys were Mom’s from a first marriage; ultimately there would be seven boys in our new blended family. For Dean, all seven were “his boys.”

Our first Christmas together was in 1955. Dean and my mother Virginia had married after a courtship that seemed to include us boys as much as the two of them.

When he came to our home in Hurley to pick up Mom for dates, he would be greeted by joyous shouts of “Dean! Dean!” We were just as taken with him as was our mother. Often, while waiting for her, he would share stories with us, some about superheroes he named Starkhans and Johhny. Other stories were about his childhood, or his Army days.

After their marriage and our move to Dean’s Spring Valley farm, those Army stories included tales about medals and military insignia that he treasured from his time in service. Each medal had a story. Mom often implored us to “leave poor Dean alone,” especially after a hard day of farm chores or fieldwork. But regardless of how tired he might be, he would share them.

As our first “family” Christmas approached, we also were excited that Mom was having a baby. Our new brother or sister might even be born on Christmas!

Mom went into labor on December 23, and we all raced to the hospital 50 miles away in Yankton where our brother was born. We spent that night and Christmas Eve morning with Mom until our grandparents offered to drive us back to the farm. “We’ll take you home and then come back to get you tomorrow,” Grandma said. “We can all share Christmas with Virgie and the baby at the hospital.” Dean, who was very tired, readily agreed. We piled into Grandpa and Grandma’s car and headed to the farm.

We didn’t have a telephone, so Dean told our grandparents we would see them on Christmas morning and off they went. We boys bounded inside, not at all tired. “Yay!” we shouted. “We’ve got a new brother! And tonight Santa Claus is coming!” 

Many years later, Dean told us that he then realized he had forgotten about Santa and that the Christmas gifts planned for our stockings were in the trunk of the car, 50 miles away. So, after dinner and checking the livestock, he quietly tucked us into bed and smiled at our excitement over Santa’s pending arrival. He had a plan.

When we raced from our beds Christmas morning, our stockings were bulging. But before we could look into them, Dean lifted a letter off the table. “Look! A letter from Santa,” he said. He opened it and read: “Hello boys! I know how much your Mom and new brother want to see what you’re getting from me for Christmas, so I’ve taken your presents to the hospital so you can open them there after you go back with your Grandpa and Grandma.”

“Ain’t that nice of him boys?” Dean said. “Your Mom will be so happy.” We all looked a bit skeptical at that but could still see that our stockings seemed pretty full of something.

“What’s in our stockings?” I asked.

“Well, let’s take a look.” Dean stepped aside and we reached in to pull out apples, oranges, nuts, toothbrushes and a shiny piece of cardboard. Affixed to that cardboard in each of our stockings were Army medals and insignia.

“Well, would you look at that,” Dean said. “Just like mine. Santa must’ve heard me telling you about them and knew how much you liked them.”

They were Christmas gifts beyond our wildest dreams, a memory created by our new dad to last a lifetime.

About the Author: Dan Jorgensen began his writing career with the Sioux Falls Argus Leader at age 19. He is also the author of several books, including Killer Blizzard, And the Wind Whispered and Rainbow Rock, all set in South Dakota. He and his wife Susan live in Milliken, Colorado.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the November/December 2024 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.